Ghosts
by dustie-snark
Summary: Waiting in the dark for a ghost from her past makes Nicky nostalgic. And jumpy. AU. Pairing: Nicky and the Professor.
1. Chapter 1

Bourne Identity: Ghosts

Description: Waiting in the dark for a ghost from her past makes Nicky nostalgic.

Author's Note: _Don't own nothin', (drools over Clive Owen) blah blah… _

_WIP. This pairing is between Nicky and the Professor, played by the delectable Clive Owen. While this is clearly AU, I hope the characters aren't too OOC. (If they are, please let me know!) This is set in the movie, with flashbacks and such. _

Nicky shifted uneasily. She didn't enjoy this, stuck waiting for him, uncertain when he'd appear. She swallowed, trying to fight back the nervous knot in her stomach. The screams of the amusement park nearby irked her, setting her nerves on edge. The gun in her handbag felt like it weighed a ton, but she had taken to carrying it around ever since Bourne went missing. And now, to top off her day, she had to meet with her former lover. 

Not for the first time, she contemplated quitting. She hadn't signed up for so much stress and responsibility while she was still learning the system. She thought that she'd just push papers for a few months, and climb the agency ladder the usual way. But instead, they had thrown her into this position almost immediately. Apparently, they were desperate for people who were young enough to pass as students on visa, but stupid enough to refrain from asking questions, and the fact that she was fluent in French sealed her fate. She had been told that she'd be monitoring sleeper agents, their health and such, and passing along information or orders as needed.

Not two weeks into it, she had realized that it was much more. Since she was based in Paris, she only took care of a handful of agents positioned in the area, but each and every one of them scared her deeply. She was able to maintain a semblance of calm, and soon gained a hold on both her expectations and duties, but the fear never fully disappeared. They all seemed to be minutes away from exploding into action. If they had been jumpy, it would've calmed her, for it would have indicated that they were afraid of something. But instead, these men looked dead inside, and feared nothing. There had been one who had intrigued her, but he had remained distant and brusque, as if he'd known about her fleeting attraction and held her at a further distance because of it.

She sighed and stamped her feet, shaking herself out of the past, and wished he'd hurry. The chill was stealing from her fingers all the way into her heart.

_ (tbc... as my muse demands and schedule allows...)_


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: The chapters are going to be short because I'm still a fledgling. Have pity and review if you're feeling extra-giving! ;o)

Flashback, Professor's POV, pt. 1

_He stumbled into the alcove, gasping from the searing pain. He was certain that the bullet had just grazed his arm, but he also knew that at least two ribs were cracked, and the slash on his thigh wasn't too happy about him walking with it. He managed to slide the key into the lock, and press the code for entrance, ducking inside out of the rain._

_Nicky appeared at the top of the stairs, and he scowled at her worried expression. He'd tried to stay away, out of her hair, but here he was, forced to ask for help. He had seen the look in her eye when they'd met, and had almost despised her for thinking him human enough to be desirable. He was a hardened agent, killed more people than she probably had spoken to all week. He was not someone who attracted groupies, even slender, intelligent and naïve ones._

_Each time they had met for his evaluation, he had remained brusque, almost biting. Yet she had remained unfazed, unwilling to rise to the bait. She had tried to match his calm, but every once in a while he caught a jerky movement that belied her placid exterior._

_Bringing himself back to the moment by leaning a bit too hard on his leg, he hobbled over to the kitchen chair. She had reached the kitchen by now, and had calmly retrieved the first aid kit and begun filling a pot with hot water. He sat down silently, taking perverse pleasure in dripping all over the kitchen, took off his glasses and raised his eyes to hers as he began shedding his jacket and shirt. To his surprise, she simply looked back calmly. He bit back a hiss of pain as he tried to pull his wounded arm through the wet sleeves, and she reached over to help him finish undressing. When he dropped his pants to reveal the deep gouge in his thigh, she had the audacity to glare at him, as if he'd gotten slashed on purpose._

_They still didn't speak as she began cleaning the blood from his wounds. He sat stoically in his boxer-briefs, a muscle twitching in his jaw whenever she pressed too hard or scraped against the open skin. When she wordlessly stepped back and looked at him, he stood to show her the bruises at his side. Her lips tightened, but she merely put a disposable hot patch on each one, taping them in place. She handed him a towel to dry off his hair, which he attempted to do one-handed, irked that he looked almost clumsy._

_When she took it from him, and began to rub his head with it gently, he tried to take it back. To his near-shock, she __tisked and slapped his hand. Too surprised to do anything, he sat back and allowed her to coax the water from his hair. As an added bonus, his ever-present pounding headache had begun to lessen, infinitesimally. He relaxed a muscle at a time, but as she continued to soothe the pain, he closed his eyes and gave in._

_A few moments later, he realized that she had slowed, and her movements were languid, more caressing. He stiffened again, and sat up, jerking out of her hands, and put his glasses back on. "Thanks," he grunted, breaking the silence, looking up at her once more._

_She studied him for a beat, then swept her gaze back down to his thigh and finally spoke. "You should sleep here tonight. If you start walking again on that cut, you'll just open it up again." He nodded. "You were lucky it missed your femoral artery," she added needlessly, in that tone that suggested that she thought he had picked the fight with his mark deliberately, then had offered up his leg voluntarily. He scowled again, but limped into the room she indicated._

_She disappeared for a time, then came back with a bottle of water and some aspirin. He had stretched out on the bed, careful to keep his leg level. She handed him the water and pain killers, then hesitated. He looked up at her, meeting her eyes again, and sighed. "Yes?"_

_She shrugged, somehow—he cursed himself for noticing—making the move look elegant. "I know you'll pull your vanishing act as soon as you feel better, so it's futile for me to tell you that you need to stay off your leg until it at least scabs over. But I figured we might as well kill two birds with one stone, and have your evaluation now. You're due in two days, anyway." She looked tense, as if expecting to have to fight him about it._

_Knowing it would throw her off track, and refusing to think about why he enjoyed confusing her, he nodded. "Very well."_

_She blinked. "Pardon?"_

_"Okay. Let's do it now." He raised his eyebrows as if to suggest that he was the one forcing her into it._

_The frown was on her face now, but she turned and retrieved her notebook._

(a/n: Yes, there's more, but it's not gelling together properly in my mind just yet.

As a side note, I used to be one of those people that didn't like author notes, and especially didn't like the ones asking for reviews, but now I know how important feedback feels! ;o)


	3. Chapter 3

a/n: Awkward plot bunny strikes again! (Oh, I just found out that his name is apparently "Pioze," while code-named the Professor. I don't read the books, sorry.)

Flashback, Professor's POV, pt.2.

_He lay back on the bed, one hand over his eyes to shield them from the light. He refused to admit it, but his head had begun throbbing again. She sat in a chair pulled up to the side of the bed, and went through the checklist, her tone businesslike. The fact that he was near-naked was not an issue. The fact that his raw magnetism filled the room so much that her own temples had began aching was._

_When her questions led, as they always did, to his frequent headaches, he admitted that having someone rub his head helped far better than any medication. He thought he'd managed to couch it in language terse enough to keep her from grinning at the revelation, but when he stole a glance at her, he saw that her lips were quirked in a barely suppressed smile._

_He'd have time to be pissed about it later, he decided as he studied her bent head. Her pen flew across the page as she recorded his brusque disclosure, and she absently chewed her lower lip. Some of her hair had come loose from the messy bun she'd put it in earlier. He wondered why she had still been awake when he'd first stumbled in; she hadn't appeared sleepy and wasn't dressed in what he'd consider pajamas. If anything, she looked like the student she was supposed to be, up late studying, wearing a sweatshirt from some college in the States and worn cutoff jeans. It was the most casual he'd ever seen her. Moving his gaze down her (long, shapely) legs, he saw with surprise that she was barefoot. Whenever they'd had a meeting, she'd been dressed in businesslike attire, fit to kill from neck to heel, complete with stilettos or boots. Suddenly her bare feet, with red toenails—red, the girl had painted them __red—made her seem more vulnerable than he was in his current state of undress._

_He finally admitted to himself with a sigh that in spite of his best defenses, he'd begun to want her. Heaven help him, he was attracted to a tiny chit of a girl who had never had to pull a gun on another human being in her life. He blew out a heavy breath and pressed his fingers to his once-more pounding temples. This was not going to end well, and he was going to have to ask for a transfer. He'd heard the Barcelona agent was looking for a change of scenery._

_Her voice broke through his musings, businesslike once more. "All right, we're done for now, so let me check your bandages and I'll leave you to your rest." He nodded, swung his legs over and sat on the side of the bed as she came closer._

Nicky's POV: _  
_

_She crouched down beside his leg, peeling back the bandage. Her rudimentary skills had helped stop the bleeding, she was glad to notice. She absently rubbed his leg as she calculated how long it would take to heal. He had been very lucky; the wound wasn't too deep, and it had, indeed missed a major artery. He would be fine in a few days, and wouldn't even have a limp._

_She looked up to relate this news to him, to have her voice die in her throat at the look of stark desire on his face. Suddenly she became very aware at their proximity. She'd always been attracted to him, of course, but she wasn't a fool. He didn't do anything by halves. Licking her dry lips, she managed to murmur something about her diagnosis, but couldn't tell if he heard her or not. She looked away and focused on a new bandage for his leg, taking an inordinate amount to do so._

_Unable to stall much longer, she glanced up at him again. Her breath quickened as she realized that he was watching her with a hooded gaze. She stumbled to her feet, then realized that she still needed to look at his arm. Touching him, once more. And he was still watching her._

_She stepped closer, standing in between his knees, forcing him to break his stare, reaching out for the bandage on his upper left arm. He brought his right hand up to rest on her hip, holding her still. Slowly, ever so slowly, he bent his head to rest against her stomach even as his knees gradually closed to hold her legs captive as well. He could feel the hitch in her breathing, but she lifted the tape and checked her patch-up job._

_When her fingers smoothed the tape down again, she couldn't move away. How had she gotten ensnared so quickly? Her hands fell to rest against his head, finding his temples automatically and, as if in a trance, began to massage the pain away. As if in response, the thumb at her hip started to move in soothing small circles. Somehow his hand had ended up underneath her sweatshirt, resting against her bare skin, and his touch felt like a searing brand. She struggled to regulate her breathing._

_He finally tipped his head up and looked at her, his gaze at once so full of desire and pain that she fell to her knees before him, and lifted her mouth for his needy kiss. It began almost hesitantly, barely concealing the force and near-desperation behind, but when she opened her lips to his probing tongue, all bets were off. Her hands slid into his hair as he devoured her, alternating with searing open-mouth kisses to her jaw and throat. She kissed him back with as much desire as she could pour out; all of her fear when he had a mission, all her craving turned into something tangible. He gave back as good as he got, surprising her with the force of his longing.  
_

_She tried to lean into him, but had no leverage. She clutched at his leg, but when he flinched, the world came shrieking back into focus. What were they doing? He let go of her almost immediately, and once again that evening, she shakily rose to her feet. Without speaking, both knew that the moment of madness had passed, that to continue down that road was the height of folly. She turned away, repressing the urge to touch her swollen lips or go back to him for one last taste. To her surprise, he stood as well, and motioned toward the door. She gathered her pad and pen, and nodded._

_He walked her to the door, his face inscrutable, even when she turned and looked at him, her own gaze blank. For a beat, or two, neither moved. Then he gently placed his hands on her hips, pulled her a step closer, then gradually moved his hold higher until his fingers were splayed across her back and his thumbs were resting just beneath her breasts. Uncertain of his actions, she simply looked at him. He measured her heartbeat for a moment or two, then pulled her across the remaining distance for one of the most heartbreakingly gentle kisses she'd ever received. She lifted her free hand to rest against his cheek as her eyes fluttered shut. He held her gently, his lips caressed her own with equal parts passion and tenderness. When he pulled away, she refused to meet his gaze, unwilling to share how deeply it had affected her, for she knew he was simply trying to make a point._

_Sure enough, when he tilted her chin up to look at him, his eyes were dark and unreadable. His voice was rough with anger, at himself, at Treadstone, the world, and her. "Go to bed, Nicky. I'm too dangerous for you."_

a/n: Don't worry, it's not done yet.


	4. Chapter 4

Somewhat long author's note: Sorry it's been so long, guys. My muse is quite unpredictable and independent, and tends to leave me for weeks at a time. However, this plot bunny revived itself and attacked me in the middle of lesson plans, and wouldn't leave, so here's an update!

On to the story!

Chapter Four:

Professor's POV

This was the third time she'd wandered around the corner and back. Hadn't the girl ever learned patience? He glanced around the deserted area, and clenched his jaw as screams rose nearby from the carnival. His headache was back in full force, and he suspected his conscience was attempting to revive itself as well. He refused to feel bad about anything that had happened with Nicky, or the way he'd left it, but that was only possible if he refused to think about it, or her, at all.

He'd tried to keep her out, he really had. He'd avoided her at all costs, been a deliberate ass, even tried scaring her off, but nothing had worked. She'd remained… curious… and constant. Even after he'd royally fucked everything up by actually kissing her…

Flashback.

_He couldn't take it anymore. Not even her maternal bossiness was quelling his desire. He tried to remind himself of her innocence, or the fact that she probably wanted a boyfriend, to wander around Paris with, holding hands in public and being sappy together. But she smelled so damn good, and when she looked at him with such open yearning, he couldn't hide his own craving any longer._

_When she kissed him, he felt like he'd fallen into another world. Caught up in the headiness of his longing, he kissed her back with all the intensity he kept hidden. There was no mistaking it; he _needed_ her. It wasn't until she clutched at his leg and squeezed the cut that he was brought back to reality with a crash. What was he doing? He released her so suddenly he was surprised she didn't fall._

_Anger flashed in him. What was she thinking, allowing him so near? She knew what he was capable of, she gave him the damn missions half the time! He was a killer, and she was letting him touch her! Pointing toward the exit in the room, he stood, intent on proving a point. _

_When she turned to face him, he saw the flash of hope before she shuttered her gaze. She needed someone who could give her hearts and flowers, someone who wasn't tainted by the ugliness of the dark side of the world. He tried to show her what she needed, and what he couldn't give her, in that last kiss. It had felt nice, to pretend to be gentle and almost loving. But he was part of the underbelly of life, and incapable of such emotions any longer. When he released her, he knew she understood, for tears were brimming in her eyes as she refused to look at him._

_He lifted her chin, allowing the frustration he felt to show, as he told her to stay away for her own good._

End flashback.

He watched her stamp her foot impatiently, and allowed himself to smirk. He had to admit it, he _was_ doing this to put her on edge. A bit.


	5. Chapter 5

Author's note: Hooray, two updates at once:o) This chapter does include somewhat M-rated content, so be warned. Unfortunately, I can't write smut without sounding ridiculous, so this is all you get. Try to enjoy, and just fill in the blanks.

As a side note, I'm going to take a leaf from another author I've read often (so sorry I can't remember your name!) and include a cautionary note: these are fictional characters! Unprotected sex is not advised, even if he's drool-worthy and you're oh-so-ready for it. The consequences are not worth the risk. (_steps off soap-box)_

Story!

Chapter Five:

Flashback, a few days later

_He pounded on the door, seething with frustration and anger. Again. It seemed that these were the only emotions he was capable of when he was around her._

_She opened the door with a blank look. "I—I thought you weren't coming today," she managed to stutter before he pushed his way inside. He stalked into the kitchen, then turned to face her when she followed._

_There was no easy way to say it. "I only came to tell you that I've put in for transfer to Barcelona."_

_To his utter shock, she simply nodded. He looked confused. "You knew?"_

_"Well, it became clear to me when they informed me that your replacement will be here in a few days." She seemed calm._

_He frowned. "That's it?"_

_She shrugged. "What were you expecting?"_

_He felt deflated. He'd been bracing himself for some type of emotion, although he wasn't sure what. "Well… I don't know." He refused to actually admit he'd hoped for a reaction._

_She raised a brow at him, and he felt like even more of an ass._

_He carefully avoided her gaze, and instead looked out the window. In the awkward silence that followed, her voice sounded steady. Damn her. "So, why did you come here today? Did you want to do the field report again?"_

_Shaking himself, he decided to retrieve his train of thought. What was the second part of his plan? Tell her he was leaving, then…_

_Ah, yes._

_He raised his head, and caught her fighting back the emotions. Her face had crumpled, and he saw the hurt and loss shining through before she tried to gather her mask back into place. With that, his resolve renewed, he strode forward confidently, and pulled her into his arms, kissing her with everything he had._

_"I want you, Nicky. I admit it. But I'm wrong for you, and this can't happen," he murmured when he finally pulled back slightly. She nodded, but couldn't blink away the tears before he saw them. He kissed her forehead, and said, "I'm sorry. For everything."_

_She gave a faltering smile. "No, you're not. But you know you should be, and you're attempting to pretend, so I'll take that into consideration."_

_He chuckled and kissed her again, purely on impulse, vaguely surprised when he couldn't pull away. He couldn't walk away again. She wasn't making any move to push him away, either. If anything, she was pulling him towards her. He forced himself to speak as he planted kisses on her jaw. "Nicky, this can't happen."_

_She gave an absent nod as she pulled his mouth back to hers. "I know," she breathed into his mouth._

_He gave up, gave into it, and handed over the reigns to desire. Slamming her against the wall, he sealed his mouth to hers, swallowing her surprised squeak._

_Nicky had come through college and gone through her fair share of fumbling, clumsy frat boys. With each skillful move, he pushed hazy memories of them even further away; he had her panting with desire from a few kisses. She wondered absently if she'd be able to forget him as easily._

_As if sensing her thought process, he growled—actually growled—as he hauled her closer, lifting her leg to wrap around his waist as he fitted her against him from mouth to hips to… She stopped analyzing his actions when he nipped her bottom lip before moving on to explore her collarbone—gently—with his teeth._

_They left a scattered trail of clothes to the spare bedroom where it had all started, a few days ago. They fell onto the bed together, consumed with passion, unable to slow down; each promising themselves that they'd go slower the next time. With moans and gasps, they fought for and against one another the whole way as the stars finally exploded around them._

_He took his time, the second time around, enjoying exploring her body, and watched her go blind with pleasure twice before he indulged himself. When she revived enough to complain about it, he simply gave an entirely male grin and explained that he liked watching the effect he had on her. "Besides," he added unrepentantly, "you have an incredibly expressive face." He allowed her to smirk with feminine satisfaction before finishing with, "that's why you'd make a shitty field agent."_

_Her response began with a pillow fight and ended with laughter as she took advantage of her position on top with sparkling eyes. He allowed her to ride him slowly, as desire slowly replaced the mirth in his gaze. Her name sounded beautiful when he said it with a throaty groan. When she shattered to pieces once more around him, he watched with a soft, dark gaze and a small, almost contented smile hidden at the corner of his mouth._

_Later, as she finished dressing, he pressed a kiss to the back of her neck. "Thank you," he murmured, hating himself for everything. Once again, he repeated to himself, she deserved better. So much better. Someone who loved her, someone who would be able to experience the everyday with her. He was a fool for tasting the fountain and leaving like a coward. She had been so selfless. He felt like an ass, and, to his surprise, found that he actually felt bad for taking what she had to offer without anything lasting to give of his own._

_She stood and faced him, her face stoic once more. "I know," she replied instead to his unspoken thoughts._

_She bent her head fractionally and leaned against his shoulder. Acting of their own accord, his hands came up to cradle her, one resting at her waist and the other at her shoulder blade. "You knew this couldn't happen," he said roughly. She nodded into him, but still didn't lift her head. He wondered absently why she wasn't in tears._

_Unable to remain any longer without doing something foolish, like shouting at her, or kissing her again, he brushed his mouth against the crown of her head, and left, slamming the door behind him. He refused to admit that it felt like he was running away from the best thing that had ever happened to him._

(a/n: smirk)


	6. Chapter 6

Author's note: Yes, these chapters are all quite short, but that's the way I roll. Thanks for tuning in!

Chapter six:

Nicky pulled her mind out of the past and checked her watch. He was definitely yanking her chain. Of course, the knowledge that she'd see him again kept sending her memories in hot flashes. She bit her lip, refusing to think about how good it had felt as he'd traced her body with surprising gentleness. Or about the darkly possessive look in his eyes as he'd watched her shatter apart.

No, she needed to concentrate on simply handing him the specs and portraying herself as mature, distant. She wanted to prove—she refused to listen to the voice that asked if it was for herself or for him—that she was fine, better than fine, and he wasn't worth her time. She shivered as another memory surged. _Right_.

Sighing again, she strolled over to the corner, wondering when he'd tire of keeping her waiting. She turned around and froze. He had appeared in front of her, hands in his pockets, looking casual and annoyed and utterly desirable. _Damn the man_. Mildly proud of herself for not jumping or screaming, she wordlessly held out the paper, knowing that if she spoke, her composure would shatter completely. He grabbed it almost lazily, shot her a last laden look, and turned on his heel, striding away quickly.

She stood there, simply breathing for a moment or two. While pleased that she hadn't done something gauche, like stumbling after him with his name on her lips, she was nonetheless exasperated with her inept performance. She was supposed to come across as worldly and aloof, not surprised and witless.

Stifling a sigh, she mused that this was predictable; standing alone in the cold, watching men walk out of her life with everything to express, but no words to say.

He had looked worn. His posture and clothes screamed that he'd had a long day, from the slump of his shoulders to the loosened tie. But he hadn't looked away from her; instead, he'd nearly devoured her with his gaze. To be sure, he had conveyed an air of vexation, and had been so abrupt she wondered if the encounter had happened at all, but he'd still stared at her for those few precious seconds.

Growling under her breath, she walked quickly to her car, pleased that the click of her heels sounded even louder in her irritation. How pathetic could she get? She was obsessing over the way a government-employed contract killer _looked_ at her. As she started the engine, she took a deep breath, and tried to push all thoughts of him out of her mind.

Yet she couldn't shake the feeling that this had been the last time she'd ever see him.


	7. Chapter 7

_A/n: well, nothing to say, really. :o) Don't own anything, blah._

**Chapter seven**

It figures. Of course this would happen.

This was the last mission he was going to complete before he left Treadstone and disappeared for good, and he ended up lying in a field, bleeding to death, being interrogated by an idiot. Bourne really must have amnesia, because there was no way he would've survived for so long if he was always this clueless. "What is Treadstone," indeed.

And yet, Bourne had shot him. Twice. With a rifle. Over the course of his entire career, he'd been through his share of injuries, but he'd only been shot once. The man who'd done it had been dead a half second later, while he himself only sustained minor injuries. But Bourne managed to shoot him twice, and did plenty of damage as well.

He sighed with defeat, looking at his bewildered replacement with cynicism and regret. He wondered absently if Nicky had treated him with the same curiosity and wary attraction, but forced that painful thought away quickly.

"Look at this. Look at what they make you give." He ignored Bourne's questions; the pain was overwhelming; he could literally feel his life ebbing away.

Bourne just looked confused, but at least he stopped trying to grill him.

He let himself fall back into the weeds with an almost relieved sigh. No more headaches, he thought absently. The searing pain throughout his body certainly took the focus off of a migraine.

Distantly, he watched as Bourne took his rucksack and walked away. He coughed, then sighed with exasperation at his botched plan. He had been contemplating taking Nicky with him, of somehow convincing her that she belonged with him. He'd finally realized that he should never have walked away from her, that she was, truly, the best thing that had happened in his sorry life, and the proof was in the two plane tickets to Amsterdam in his pocket.

He coughed again, and tried to shake away the black spots appearing in his vision. Bourne had taken his phone, so there was nothing left to do, now. With a last thought of Nicky, of how much—his pride would only let him admit it in the end—he loved her, he let the darkness take him.

-+-

_Nicky's POV_

-+-

The phone rang for a call through to Treadstone. Nicky patched it through, waiting for him to snap out his code and the abrupt confirmation of a kill. When it didn't come immediately, her stomach lurched. No, there was no way that anything had happened to him. He was indestructible.

As Danny calmly demanded a code, Nicky began shifting papers, in order to give herself something to do, to keep from panicking. But when she heard Bourne ask, "Who is this?" she dropped everything in her hands. Her heart stopped, and she began counting to ten to keep her focus. No, he was fine. It was some… some hoax. That was it. He was humiliating Bourne somehow by making him call in… or… something. He was fine.

Bourne ground out, "The man you sent is dead," and Nicky heard someone wail in the back of her mind. When she pressed a hand to her mouth, she realized the sound was coming from her. Shaking herself out of it, she forced herself to listen to the rest of the call. She scribbled down the location of the meet, and began organizing things in her mind. Conklin would be flying in, which would mean she had to arrange things on this end. As soon as Bourne hung up, Danny relayed Conklin's demands to her, then hung up as well.

She flew into action. They'd be sending a sweeper team to collect the body… and she needed to get there first. Either he was injured and needed help, or—she couldn't force herself to finish the thought—she just needed to see for herself.

Checking her watch, Nicky saw that she had a few hours before the circus began again. She finished making the last few arrangements for the meet, then sprinted out to her car. She remembered the location of the farm, and forced herself to drive naturally as she wove her way through the city streets. As soon as she reached the expressway, however, she put her foot down on the gas. She knew that if she didn't have a white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel, her hands would be shaking uncontrollably.

She had thought that it was just a crush, that sleeping with him would take the edge off, that it would get him out of her system. Instead, she felt even more attracted, had found herself thinking about him almost constantly. Once again, memories flashed through her, of each curt conversation they'd had, of simply watching him whenever he needed to be at the safe house, but most especially of the times they'd spent together that fateful day. He had been so hungry for her, and he could've been rough, simply used her… but he hadn't. Instead, he'd taken his time with her, learning what made her arch off the bed in his arms, and teaching her how to make his eyes roll back and cry out her name in that husky growl. He'd actually enjoyed being with her, had teased her and just watched her with softness in his eyes. He even told her he was too wrong for her, tried to protect her from himself.

Nicky found that she was openly sobbing as she sped on the bumpy country roads to the farm. If it was true, if he was dead, she couldn't take it.


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N: muse wouldn't stop pestering. (Don't own anything!) _

**Chapter Eight**

He slid in and out of consciousness, picking up bits and pieces. Distantly, he heard an engine driving in, and heard the dog barking frantically; the tranquilizer he'd given it must've worn off… he woke again to the damned dog licking his face… hearing Nicky's voice muttering, catching a frightened, sharp tone, "Wake up, you stupid bastard," as hands frantically checked his pulse and tried to lift him. He tried to tell her that he knew for a fact that his parents had been married, rendering her comment invalid, but decided to pass out again instead.

When he woke once more, he was lying in bed with an IV attached. Glancing around at the room, he recognized the somewhat "off" look of the safe houses Treadstone kept. He closed his eyes again and concentrated. How had he gotten here? His wounds seemed to be patched.

Brisk heels approached the door, then Nicky appeared in the room, carrying a glass of water. She didn't look surprised to see him awake, but he saw the tense line of her mouth soften slightly as she handed him the glass and some painkiller.

He swallowed the pills, watching her carefully. "What the bloody hell are you doing here?" In truth, she'd never looked so beautiful to him, but he didn't want to scare her by spouting poetry. She'd probably think he had brain damage.

Refusing to meet his gaze, she shrugged as she stepped back. "I was in the area." He frowned at the obvious lie, but didn't push her. Instead, he gazed at her, taking in the blood-stained blouse, the smudges of dirt and blood on her face and even in her hair. She was still pale, as well. What had she gone through to get him here?

"Is that all mine?" He nodded towards the blood on her clothes.

She looked down at them, as if seeing them for the first time. "Oh. Um, I guess. You, uh… well, there was blood everywhere."

He searched for something to lighten the mood. "Well, a shotgun does tend to do a lot of damage."

To his horror, her eyes started to fill with tears. She blinked furiously, and refused to look at him, embarrassed. Ah, hell. "Nicky. Look at me." He wished his voice could be softer, not so gravelly.

She shook her head, turned away and picked up her purse which had been resting on the nearby table. "I need to get back."

He nodded as he recognized the fine trembling in her hands as the aftereffects of an adrenaline rush. She must've been pretty frightened to leave her post unattended, without official permission, and come all the way out here. Frightened… for him. The knowledge that she cared, at least a little, came over him like a ray of sun, giving his soul a lightness he hadn't felt for years. Making a decision quickly, he lifted his free hand. "Come here." Thinking quickly, he added, "please."

She raised her brows, but bent towards him all the same.

"Closer," he said gruffly. She leaned further still, until her face was within inches of his. She'd dropped the mask, and was finally meeting his gaze, not disguising the fact that her breathing had quickened slightly.

He slowly hooked his hand at the base of her neck, and pulled her to meet his mouth. He took his time, kissing her thoroughly, wishing he could pull her on top of him and they'd pick up where they left off. She seemed to have the same idea, because she started to crawl onto the bed with him, but stopped herself when her keys clinked inside her purse.

He finally released her head, but couldn't resist kissed her quickly one last time. "Thank you, Nicky," he said quietly.

She looked at him again, a small smile touching her swollen lips. "You should thank the dog. I couldn't find you at first, but he wouldn't stop barking." She frowned suddenly. "You didn't kill him. Why?"

He gave a wry grin. "A hardened government black-ops weapon I may be, but I'm not cruel. Besides, he reminded me of a dog I had as a boy."

She touched him, then, lifting her hand to his cheek. Indulging himself for once, he turned his chin so that he could kiss her palm. She didn't disguise her surprise at his uncharacteristically affectionate action, staring at him, wide-eyed.

He gave a half-hearted grin, and thought of saying that the pain made him do strange things. "Nicky," he began, but stopped. There was so much to say, but he had no idea where to begin.

She sighed, and with regret in her voice, said, "I really do need to go." He tugged on her hand, grinning when she bent forward and kissed him again with no other provocation. "Soup is on the table, and there are more pills in the cabinet. You'll be fine, eventually; you lost a lot of blood. The doctor's downstairs; he'll be checking on you again in an hour or so."

He refused to let go of her hand. "Wait." She paused, standing at the edge of his bed. He nearly choked; she looked so heavenly. Even with smudges and covered in his blood, he'd never been more drawn to her. Swallowing his pride, he managed to force out, "Are you going to come back?"

She gave him a small smile, and squeezed his hand. With that, she left the room.


	9. Chapter 9

_A/N: Hooray! Finally! Thank you for your patience, and please let me know what you think! :) More is coming, just as fast as my brain will allow._

**Chapter Nine**

The car slid into the slush-filled, muddy driveway and Nicky threw it into park, jumping out without bothering to turn it off or even close the door. She could hear a dog barking, but all else seemed still. There was smoke rising faintly from the remains of a propane tank. She took a shaky breath and tried to calm her heart rate, to think logically, but all she could hear was Bourne saying, "The man you sent is dead."

The dog kept barking, reaching a higher pitch as she walked closer to the shed. She threw open the door, both fearing and hoping that he was inside. A streak of fur dashed past her, racing toward the field. Proud that she had kept from screaming aloud, it took Nicky a moment to think. When she realized that the dog would be her best bet to find him, she turned and ran toward the sound of frantic barking once more.

The dog was already on his way back to her, his yelps reaching new levels of urgency. When he saw that she was following, he bounded back to the center of the weed-infested field, where she saw—

Her heart stopped, and time stretched to the breaking point. The sound of the dog's barking faded away; all she could do was stare at the crumpled, bloody body lying in the center of the field.

She blinked, and everything snapped back into focus. She realized that she was kneeling beside him, one hand at his neck, checking for a pulse. One agonizing moment later, she gave a shuddering sigh as she felt a weak sign of life. She felt like hitting him for scaring her so deeply, but she settled for muttering epithets and trying to wake him up.

-+-

Nicky paced the small hall impatiently as she snapped out orders to the French contact who was organizing the trap for Bourne. He didn't seem to comprehend that they were on a tight schedule and kept demanding to talk to her boss. She finally growled out the phone number and pressed the end button, wishing that she'd been on a regular telephone that she could slam down angrily.

A door upstairs opened suddenly, making her jump. She hurried over to the stairwell and watched the docter descend anxiously.

The physician laughed when he saw her face. "Breathe, _cherie_, your young man is fine. He will be in pain for a few days, so I have left some medication for you. He has a strong will, that one."

Nicky nodded and bent her head, surprised to find that she felt like crying again. She was becoming quite the emotional wreck, thanks to his presence in her life. "Thank you, my friend," she finally said, clearing her throat again. "I have other duties to attend to, so would you mind checking on him throughout the rest of the day? I'll be back sometime tonight."

The graying man beamed at her. "But of course, my dear. You know you don't need to ask me."

She smiled and squeezed his hand. "And the money is already in your account." He began protesting, but she waved him off. "You have done so much over the years, it is only a small part of what I owe you. Please, take it."

He sighed, but nodded. "Very well. Now go see him, he should be awake soon."

-+-

Nicky strode into the room, relieved when she saw him watching her quietly. Wordlessly handing him the first of many painkillers, she simply watched him, unwilling to be the first to break the fragile silence. Although she'd come to terms with the fact that she loved him, she was still well aware that he was a relentless bastard, and knew that a "thank you" from him would be about as likely as snow in July. Sure enough, he growled at her as he took the pills.

Shrugging, trying not to betray the emotional ordeal she'd been through, she lied through her teeth about being in the area. He'd never believe her, but she doubted he actually wanted a straight answer from her; he just wanted to be cranky.

He surprised her next by asking about the blood on her clothes. She didn't realize she'd gotten so covered in blood...his blood. Fighting back sudden tears at realizing how close she'd come to losing him, she stammered, "Oh. Um, I guess. You, uh… well, there was blood everywhere."

He had the nerve to joke about the damage a shotgun could do, and there went her restraint. With tears threatening to fall, she decided to leave before she told him how scared she'd been and how much she loved him and made a complete idiot out of herself.

But then, he asked her to come to him. With a "please," no less. Turning, allowing him to see her surprise, she obeyed. When he urged her closer, she let her face betray some of what she was feeling. How he'd scared her, how much she cared... To her surprise, he seemed to reciprocate, staring into her eyes for a few moments before hooking a hand at the base of her neck.

He pulled her to him, mouth to mouth, kissing her like she'd saved his life. She trembled at the force of her desire, realizing several minutes (hours?) later that she had just about crawled into bed with him. He finally eased back, but couldn't seem to stop himself from kissing her once more.

To her shock, he murmured, "Thank you, Nicky."

She blinked, but managed to grin. "You should thank the dog. I couldn't find you at first, but he wouldn't stop barking." It occurred to her that it was quite possibly the first thing she'd noticed him do that showed that he had a heart. Why hadn't he just killed the dog?

When she asked him, he muttered something about having a dog like that when he was a boy, and she noticed with delight that he was actually blushing.

Her first impulse was to tease him about it, but decided to show him that he could trust her. She lifted a hand to touch him, unable to keep away, and he kissed her palm. Her heart leaping, she tried to hold back the rush of joy that his impulsive action produced.

Her face must have betrayed some of what she was feeling, because he began to say something, but stopped. She knew that they'd need to talk, but they didn't have time; she was already running late.

"I really do need to go," she finally said. He couldn't let her leave without another kiss, but she wasn't complaining. She made sure he knew where the food was, and told him the doctor would be checking in periodically.

He wouldn't relinquish his grasp of her hand just yet, and even asked if she would be returning. She simply smiled and squeezed his hand, unable to trust her voice. How could she stay away?

...

_A/N: I just wanted to write it from her POV as well… my brain is currently in bourne-mode, so once I finish watching all three again and have a better plan, there will be more coming._


	10. Chapter 10

_A/N: Warning, slight language. If you care._

**Chapter Ten**

Nicky quickly parked across the street from her headquarters, cursing under her breath as her phone rang. "Yeah." It seemed like Conklin couldn't properly function without demanding that she do it for him.

"How long does it take to wipe the room down and get it moved?"

How had he managed to fuck up that meet? It was supposed to be simple; get Bourne to come in, see what happened. She'd supplied him with her best contacts in Paris. How had they managed to ruin a simple stakeout? It seemed that when Conklin made a mistake, he wasn't satisfied unless he took everyone else down with him. "Get rid of everything?"

"Yeah." She could tell he was panicked by the situation but trying to maintain control. _Good luck with that, you sanctimonious, power-hungry ass, _she thought resentfully.

She sighed, glancing at her watch. "Two to three hours."

"All right, well get started." He hung up without waiting for a response.

Sighing again, she quickly keyed in and began the long process of clearing her life for the past three years out of the house. It was a good thing she wasn't sentimental, because then she'd actually care that she was leaving the place that held so many memories of them. "Just keep telling yourself that, Nic," she muttered as she swept her personal belongings into her only suitcase and began wiping the computers.

-+-

Pioze woke again in a surge of adrenalin, rising half-way off the bed before realizing he was still in the safe house. That was the third time he'd done that this evening, and he was getting sick of it. He hated "resting;" the best way for him to recover was to get back out in the field and _do_ something.

He sat up, carefully gauging his body's responses. Everything seemed to be functioning, aside from the pain in his side every time he breathed. He suspected that the painkillers were taking the edge off, but he didn't care. He needed to get out.

He got dressed, relieved to see that his injuries wouldn't hinder him too much as long as he didn't try to make sudden movements. "Buck up, Pioze," he muttered. "Get your head together; you've been through worse near-death experiences."

Making his way downstairs, he saw the doctor Nicky had mentioned in the tiny kitchen. He looked like everyone's grandfather, working on a crossword puzzle and drinking coffee. Pioze stifled a laugh at the simplistic, normal actions, and wondered how long he'd been on the payroll of the CIA black-ops.

"_Bonjour_," the doctor said, beaming at his patient. "How do you feel?"

He shrugged. "Like I got the shit kicked out of me with a shotgun."

The elderly man chuckled. "You are lucky, you know. The damage was mostly superficial. Nicolette was extremely worried."

"Oh, was she?" he said casually. He tried not to betray his interest, but the twinkling in the doctor's eyes made him suspect that his ears had perked up like a puppy's.

"I have never seen her that frantic. She has always been so calm, so steady, even when she was near death herself. But with you…" he sighed. "Young love, it is beautiful."

He tried to ignore his latter statement, unwilling to get his hopes up just yet. "She was hurt? When?"

The doctor nodded, sipping his coffee. "_Oui_, it was a few years ago. Bad situation, but the girl, she has, how you say, grit? Yes, you should ask her about it. It is not for me to tell."

He nodded, and turned towards the door. "I think I'll do that." He paused and turned, remembering his manners. "Thank you."

He chuckled and waved away his thanks. "You just hold onto her, do not let her get away. She is a wonderful woman."

Pioze nodded again, and checked his pocket for the tickets. Remarkably, they were still there, and had escaped both shotgun damage and his blood. Perhaps it was a sign.

He flagged down a taxi, and tersely gave directions to a bar close to the house. He'd wait a bit, then stop by, see if she was okay, perhaps finally talk to her.

-+-

Nicky ended yet another phone call with their contact in southern Europe. "Okay, they're on it. We'll have a satellite download in 30 minutes." Conklin had begun demanding updates each time she moved, so she began volunteering the information, just so she wouldn't have to listen to him talk.

As she went to another shredder, she absently wondered how Pioze was doing. She hoped he'd stay there long enough for her to see him again. He'd hinted that he would, but who knew with him. It could've just been the painkillers talking.

Suddenly, car alarms began going off up and down the street. She almost laughed at the way Conklin jumped. Twitchy bastard. It was catching, though; she could feel herself becoming nervous. She'd had a somewhat friendship with Bourne; he'd always been polite to her at least, but with his amnesia, perhaps she should be worried.

"Where's your field box?" Conklin demanded. She ignored him and focused on the computers; the security system was going crazy.

He was getting pissy. "Where's your field box?"

"It's right there," she snapped, annoyed at his frantic manner. The man acted like he'd never been in a difficult situation before. Where was his gun, anyway?

"The system's gone haywire." She frowned in concern. "That's this window right here." She checked the phones, not surprised to hear an absence of sound. "Dead, the phones are dead."

The power suddenly went out. Damn it. "It's Bourne, isn't it?"

"Just quiet," said the ass with her gun, calm now that he had something to hid behind. He moved slowly around the darkened rooms, looking for the boogeyman in every corner.

Bourne appeared out of the dining room, telling Conklin to drop the gun. But Conklin soon regained the upper hand, using bullying tactics that made Nicky pity the confused amnesiac. Indeed, Bourne looked almost like a bewildered puppy as Conklin lambasted him up one side and down the other.

When Conklin gestured to her, saying he could've sent her to kill Wombosi, Bourne looked at her, only confusion in his eyes. She'd always wondered what would happen when one of them snapped.

It was a pity that Bourne was the one to go first; she'd always liked him the best. He'd come in as the replacement to Pioze, and had been courteous to her during their checkups and operational meetings. They'd almost become friends, if it was possible for a black-ops heartless killing machine to have such a relationship with his handler. But she had always known that if it came down to it, he wouldn't hesitate to do what was ordered.

For now, she was actually frightened. He didn't remember her, and if he deemed her a threat, she was already dead. She just remained in the center of the room, listening to their interaction and counting each breath.

When he told Conklin that Jason Bourne was dead, she was glad. She didn't believe that he'd killed Marie; something in his voice had said he was lying. Maybe they'd have a chance at happiness together. She wished them the best of luck.

He looked at her, uncertain if she was a threat or not. Something in her face must've shown the relief she felt when he'd hit Conklin again, because he didn't do anything. She swore he almost nodded at her, a hint of the Jason Bourne she'd known peeking out. Then his attention was turned to the door, and all hell broke loose.

...

_A/N: enh. I really hate Conklin, so that comes out a little here. Hope you enjoyed! More is still on the way. :)_

_P.S. I just realized that I changed the weapon from "rifle" to "shotgun." Oops. Oh well, I'm sticking with shotgun. Please raise your hand if you care all that much. :p_


	11. Chapter 11

**_Bourne Identity: Ghosts_**

_A/N: I'm so sorry it's taken so long for me to finish this one! Unfortunately, my muse is sporadic at best. It's been great fun to see the response, and I'm so glad you've enjoyed the story!_

_Thanks to everyone for reading and reviewing! This chapter is the last installment, for now. I have ideas for a follow-up fic, but they're just rolling around in my head for now. Let me know if you're interested! :) Enjoy._

-+-

**Chapter Eleven**

He emerged from the taxi, paid the driver, and glanced down the street toward the safe house. Was she in trouble for leaving her post? He wondered where Bourne had ended up; whether he'd managed to get his act together and disappear.

Suddenly, he heard the unmistakable sound of gunshots. Without thinking, he ran towards the house, glancing around for activity. He needed to focus, but the only thought in his mind was that if anything had happened to Nicky, blood would be shed. He saw no one running in either direction, no suspicious shadows flitting about doorways, so he forced his heart rate to slow. He needed to be methodical, make sure that any threats were eliminated before they could get to her.

When he rounded the corner and glanced into the alley, he saw a crumpled body lying in the middle of the street. He could tell that it was a man's, so he didn't bother to check. He quickly ducked into the doorway, ready to enter his code, but saw with surprise that the door was cracked open. This was never a good sign.

He pulled his gun from its holster beneath his jacket, and silently thanked his conditioning. He had apparently grabbed it without thinking when he left the other safe house, since thinking about Nicky took too much of his concentration.

He knew he was being sloppy, but his only thought was to find her. He took in the bodies lying on the ground floor, and raced up the stairs, leaping over another two on the way up. His thoughts blended together, _NickyNickyNickypleaseohgodletherbeokay_, as he rushed up the last flight and saw the door ajar as well.

Slipping through, he glanced around, shaking off the lightheaded feeling so much activity generated in his weakened state. No one was in the hall, although bullet holes were everywhere.

He quickly ducked into the living room, glancing over the boxes and the bags of shredded paper, then moved to the office area. The computer screen was blinking, showing a successful upload to the satellite server, but she wasn't there, either.

He strode down the hall, silently opening the door to her room, remembering that the last time he'd been in here, it had been under decidedly different circumstances, with fewer clothes and guns involved.

Nicky was sitting on the bed with the lights off, cross-legged, looking down at something in her hands. His breath escaped in an explosive sigh of relief as he holstered his gun again and went to her. She didn't seem surprised to see him there, only glancing up at him when he stood in front of her.

He tilted her chin up so he could see her in better light. "Nicky, what the hell happened here? Are you okay?" His voice came out gravelly and rough from concern for her.

She smiled up at him sadly. "I'm fine. Jason was here; you just missed him."

He gave a wry grin and sat down beside her. "What're you looking at?"

She handed him a file folder, which he saw held copies of her evaluations of the agents. She had it opened to a page on Bourne, where she'd written that he seemed the one who suffered the most from the pressure of the job.

"I feel like I should've helped him… should've helped you all. I could see that the stress was too much, that you had become dead inside. But I couldn't help. Wouldn't let myself." She looked up at him, her eyes sorrowful, pleading with him to understand.

He pulled her close and kissed her forehead. He really was becoming a sap, he noted with chagrin. "Nicky, we made this decision ourselves. We all came into it voluntarily, we knew what we were doing."

She nodded and sighed, then stood and reached out for the folder. He closed it, but held on and looked at her evenly. "We each made the decision to come in, and we can make the decision to leave, as well."

She looked more alert at that. "What are you saying?"

He put the folder down beside him, and grabbed her hands. "I'm saying I'm through taking orders from others. I want to be able to live where I want, with whomever I want. I want to take you away from all this, where you can do what you love, instead of force yourself to be clinical and heartless. I want to see you laugh more." He freed one of his hands and pulled out the tickets to Amsterdam. "How about it?"

She blinked. Looked at the tickets, looked up at him, then glanced down the hallway to the bullet-ridden front room. "And you think they'll just let us leave?"

He smiled, quite pleased with himself. "Well, as far as they know, I'm dead. I have no problems allowing them to continue operating under that misconception." She gave a choked laugh. He squeezed her hand, and gestured with the tickets. "It doesn't hurt that I have enough saved up in multiple bank accounts to last us for a lifetime or two." Her eyes filled with tears at that. "All you have to do is put in for a transfer due to this 'stressful environment.' They owe you a few weeks vacation, anyway."

Her face gradually cleared as she thought about it, and she finally smiled at him through watery eyes. "It's… just perfect. Yes, let's do it."

He gave a short laugh and bounded up, sweeping her into a kiss that went from her lips to her toes. "I love you, Nicky. You know that, right?" he growled into her hair.

She pulled back, and touched his weary, worn, handsome face. She smiled, gazing into his soul, and answered the question that lingered there, unasked. "Yes."


End file.
